


When You Move, I'm Moved

by anovelblogwrites



Series: "You could stay with me" [2]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Post-Book 3: Ruin and Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anovelblogwrites/pseuds/anovelblogwrites
Summary: Surely Nikolai could see that Alina—from the sharp corona on her head, to the silk slippers pinching her toes—was not dressed to dance. With a well-practiced bow, he offered her a gloved hand. Alina stared it, stared at him. The longer she did, the more pleading his eyes became.“Fine,” she huffed.[Or, Alina and Nikolai host their first formal ball as tsar and tsaritsa]
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov
Series: "You could stay with me" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548229
Kudos: 30





	When You Move, I'm Moved

**Author's Note:**

> y’all mind if i… inject fluff directly into my veins ?

Alina was sure she was scowling. She could feel the tension in her jaw, a certain heaviness in her brow, as she surveyed the ballroom beneath her. She was far less enchanted by it as a queen than she was as a young Grisha soldier. 

Although the ballroom had been restored to its former glory, Alina could still see the cracks and shattered glass on the polished marble floors. The chandeliers and sconces glowed gold, but the shadows still lurked around every corner. She watched them warily, lashing and receding around pillars and under feet, from where she sat on the dias above. 

The throne was too old to be comfortable. Not that it mattered. The fabric covering her body was threaded in gold and precious stones. Even if slouching was a possibility, it wouldn’t be comfortable. As it was, her shoulders couldn’t even sag under the burden of her gown. The corset had forced her posture into rigid refinement, and despite her perfect stillness, the sharp edges of the stones on her bodice dug into her skin. Her corona was ancient and digging into her scalp. 

The cluster of skirts and shadows splintered at the center, and Alina’s frown, if possible, deepened. There was only one person who could navigate a crowd with such ease. It was irritating. 

Despite his earlier confession that he was dreading the event almost as much as she was, Nikolai was nothing short of radiant: the warm yellow lights shone in his hair and danced in his eyes. While the light had been her weapon, it was Nikolai’s armor. In this light he wasn’t just golden, he was celestial. 

He was dropping into the seat next to her. 

She blinked at him, still transfixed, as he flashed her a placating smile, “Alina, darling.” 

Alina glowered at her husband. She was only _darling_ when he thought she was being difficult. 

Undeterred by the hard glint in her eyes, the sharp set of her brows, he continued, “I’m afraid you’re intimidating our guests.” 

She glanced down again. Curious eyes stared back, and Alina suspected that if the string quartet wasn’t still playing, it would be eerily quiet. 

Still, she argued, “They look fine to me.” 

At least, they had been a minute ago. 

“I had to assure Duke Ivetsov that you weren’t plotting to spear him with your fork during dinner,” Nikolai countered. 

“Well, you shouldn’t have.” She hated Duke Ivetsov. 

Shaking his head, Nikolai rose from his throne, looming over her with a smile that most would find charming. Alina knew better. 

With a well-practiced bow, he offered her a gloved hand. 

Alina stared it, stared at him. Her own hands remained crossed resolutely in her lap. When she looked back to his face, Nikolai’s showy grin had faltered. In its place was something much more human—a look of tender exasperation. 

The longer she studied it, the more pleading his eyes became. His smile more hopeful. 

_“Fine,”_ she huffed, watching as Nikolai tried not to look triumphant. 

She snatched his hand in hers, allowing him to ease her onto her feet. The weight of her gown came crashing around her waist, where the champagne silk of the skirt gave way to the velvet that covered her ams and draped over her back, where it gathered, then tumbled over her hips like a waterfall. That is, if waterfalls were emerald and trimmed with gold and unbearably hot. As Nikolai guided her down the steps, her hand curled less-than-gently around his elbow. Alina felt like she had to fight against the train, as if it were trying to drag her back to her throne. The infinitesimal diamonds woven into the embroidery rattled against the polished floor. 

As she and Nikolai made their way across the floor, shoes skittered back, away from the train, like it was made of fire instead of velvet. By the time they had made their way to the middle of the ballroom floor, it was as if they were the only two people on it. Everyone else had backed away and into one another. 

Nikolai stepped out of Alina’s grip to face her before dipping into another bow. 

“What are you doing?” she asked through her teeth. Surely Nikolai could see that Alina—from the sharp corona on her head, to the silk slippers pinching her toes—was not dressed to dance. 

In answer, Nikolai stepped forward and nestled one of his hands between her hip and her ribs. Using that gentle grip, he coaxed Alina into rhythmic sway. He moved with her, gently shifting his weight, building up to small steps. 

With his other hand, he grabbed hers, before taking a step back. Alina really had no choice but to follow. As she slid forward, she let her free hand settle on Nikolai’s shoulder, as she had been instructed. Part of becoming royalty, she’d discovered, was learning to dance. 

Alina counted the steps carefully, trying to watch her feet to make sure they didn’t collide with Nikolai’s polished boots, but it was hard to keep track of any movement happening under her the silk of her skirt. She was just glad she hadn’t stepped back onto her own train. 

Suddenly—the only warning being the tightening of his grip on her waist—Nikolai swooped Alina into an exaggerated dip. The antique on her head clattered to the marble, and someone behind her gasped. Alina couldn't bring herself to share their concern. 

When Nikolai pulled her up, wisps of hair fell in front of her face. The elegant twist at the back of her head was drooping to the right. But that was the least of her worries, because before Alina could fully regain control of her feet, they were scrambling under her. Nikolai had started moving faster. Their feet were skipping rather than stepping, and going much too fast for the slow, methodical music reverberating through the cavernous hall. 

Alina risked looking up from the floor to give Nikolai a hopelessly befuddled look. Trying to reconcile the languid sigh of the strings with the nimble, erratic beat of Nikolai’s feet was an impossibility. As she lurched along with him, Alina trodded on his feet. But Nikolai paid no mind to the clashing of toes, or Alina’s desperate face. He was too busy looking at her through eyes glinting with mischief, and listening to whatever was playing in his head. On trying to get Alina to hear it too. 

Until the band, like most things, bent to his will and sprang into double-time. 

The ballroom was a blur around her, but Alina could just make out the colorful outlines of couples joining them, hear their laughter rivaling the music. 

Nikolai raised their joined hands, setting up for a spin. Alina’s eyes widened as she looked from the pool of emerald at her feet to Nikolai. All that fabric would just get twisted around her ankles if she were to twirl. When Nikolai looked at her, she shook her head. This was going to be a disaster. 

Nikolai winked, then ducked under himself. Although she pushed up on her toes, Nikolai was still a little to tall to spin smoothly under Alina’s outstretched arm, forcing him to hunch his shoulders as he turned around on his heels. 

With a reluctantly amused snort, Alina decided to indulge Nikolai, throwing her arm out and stepping away from him. Nikolai let himself swing outward with a flourish, before spinning back into her and grabbing her waist again. They rocked together in erratic circles until the music slowed, and finally, mercifully, stopped. 

Alina, who hadn’t been able to draw in a full breath since Genya laced her up hours ago, slumped against Nikolai, letting him bear the weight of her, the dress. 

“You’re lucky…” she wheezed into the crook of his neck, “You made me promise...not to kick you again…” 

Another gasp wracked through her, “You ass.” 

Alina felt, rather than heard, Nikolai’s laughter. She just hoped that he couldn’t feel her smile against his skin.


End file.
